At least it got us off the subject of names, though Sethos continued to address his brother deferentially as ‘sir,’ which made Emerson swear under his breath.
“Do you know Mr. Vandergelt too?” Sennia asked.
“Oh, yes. One might say I know him as well as he knows himself.” He left Sennia to puzzle over this enigmatic remark, which the rest of us understood quite well. “I have not met Mrs. Vandergelt, though, or her son.”
“Can we have a party?” Sennia asked eagerly.
“We must certainly arrange something,” I remarked. “But it will have to wait until the tomb is locked up.”
“A wise precaution,” Sethos agreed gravely. “One never knows, does one?”
“We are glad to have you here, sir,” Nefret said. “You will stay, we hope, for Cyrus’s celebration.”
“He has good reason to celebrate,” Sethos said. “And I understand you and your husband have another cause for rejoicing.”
“How did you – how do you -?” Nefret gasped.
“I have my sources,” said Sethos. He held out his hand, and when he spoke the mockery was gone from his face and voice. “I wish you joy, Nefret. And you, Ramses. I suppose you’ll be returning to England before long?”
“Our child will be born in Egypt, as is fitting,” Nefret said. “Do you suppose I’d allow a pompous male English physician to take care of me, when there are two trained women obstetricians on the staff of my hospital?”
“What about you?” Emerson demanded of Sethos.
“I’m in no hurry to leave. England hasn’t much to offer me.” He smiled wickedly at his brother.
Emerson’s face reddened. “Neither has Luxor.”
“My dear fellow, I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your activities. In fact, I would be delighted to assist in any possible manner.”
“Ha,” said Emerson.
Nefret turned her chuckle into a cough.
After dinner the men went off to stand guard. Emerson declined, with thanks, Sethos’s offer to join them.
“Do you suppose he will ever get over suspecting my intentions?” inquired my brother-in-law, after we had retired to the sitting room.
“Perhaps,” Nefret suggested, “if you would get over teasing him…”
“I can’t resist, Nefret. He’s such an easy mark. I was teasing, though, when I implied I would stay on here. I must leave tomorrow.”
“So soon?” Nefret exclaimed. Impulsively she placed her hand on his shoulder. “You will miss Cyrus’s party. We want to keep you with us a while longer.”
“You really mean it, don’t you?” The strange gray-green eyes were, for once, very kind. “I’d like to, Nefret, but I can’t.”
“You are going back to the war, aren’t you?” I asked composedly. “I thought you had promised Margaret this would be your last assignment.”
“The job’s not finished yet, Amelia dear. I made a quick trip here because – well, for two reasons. I must be getting old; I did want to see all of you. The other reason is more… difficult.”
“Would you like me to leave?” Nefret asked.
“No. Please stay. Did Amelia tell you about a conversation we had recently concerning my daughter?”
Nefret’s eyes widened, and I said, “I considered it a private confidence. I have not even told Emerson.”
“Thank you, Amelia. I wasn’t quite myself at the time; what precisely did I say?”
“You said she held you accountable for her mother’s death, and that she had run away from home. You attempted to find her at that time, I presume. A girl of fifteen or sixteen should not have been able to elude a determined search.”
“She was sixteen. But very precocious in a number of ways. Like her mother. I did search, long and hard, without result. I believe she had help, from one of Bertha’s former friends – the same one who told Maryam – Molly – about her mother’s death. Recently I heard that she had found a – a protector, and was in Egypt. I’ve been playing with the Turks ever since; haven’t had time to look for her here.”
“I am very sorry,” Nefret said gently. “Can nothing be done to save her?”
“She doesn’t want to be saved. Especially by me.”
He had not given way, nor would he, but I knew he cared more for the girl than he would admit and that guilt as well as affection motivated his search. I began, “There is a chance that we might -”
“You may encounter her; our Egypt is a small world, in a sense. That is why I brought the subject up. But, Amelia dear, don’t assume that because you managed to reform me – up to a point – you can redeem the entire damned universe. If Maryam blames me for her mother’s death, how do you suppose she feels about you?”
He rose, rather heavily. “I’ll say good night, and good-bye. My regards to Ramses and – er – Emerson.”
“Won’t we see you again?” Nefret asked.
“Not this time. I have business in Luxor before I leave tomorrow. If you learn anything about Molly, a message to our mutual friend with the preposterous name will reach me eventually. He will notify you of any change in my situation.”
“Your death, you mean?” I asked steadily.
“Now, Amelia, it isn’t like you to look on the dark side. Who knows, it may be a wedding invitation!” His mocking smile faded and he said hesitantly, “If you should hear from Margaret -”
“I will write her tomorrow,” I promised. “Someone must know her current address.”
“Thank you.” He took my hand. “Turn your back, Nefret.”
She let out a gasp and so did I. Sethos laughed and caught me in his arms and kissed me – on the brow.
“You will always be the woman I love,” he said. “That doesn’t prevent me from loving Margaret as much. You understand, I think.”
“Yes,” I said. “Turn your back, Nefret.”
Cyrus was bitterly disappointed when he learned of Sethos’s departure, though the arrival of the steel door, a day ahead of schedule, distracted him temporarily. Selim assured him the men would bend their best efforts to have it in place the following day.
“Then I can send out my invitations to the fantasia,” Cyrus said. “Shame Ismail had to leave so soon, I was looking forward to seeing more of him.”
“Typical,” Emerson growled. “Comes and goes at his own convenience.”
“He has other duties,” I said reprovingly. “As you are well aware.”
We did hear from him once again, however. A letter, hand-delivered, awaited us when we got to the house that afternoon. It contained only two sentences: “There are strangers in Luxor. And my former customer is still in the market.”
“I can guess who that’s from, but what the dickens does it mean?” asked Cyrus, who had come back with us for tea.
Emerson glanced around to make sure Sennia wasn’t listening. He lowered his voice.
“It is confirmation of my suspicions, Vandergelt. Tonight is the last night the tomb will be open. I had a feeling Albion wouldn’t give up without a final attempt. He won’t get help from the Gurnawis, but strangers, hired criminals, might be willing to attack us if the rewards were high enough.”
“Good Lord!” Cyrus ejaculated. “We’d better get over to Luxor right away. Have the fellows rounded up and put the fear of God into Joe Albion.”
“I am surprised at you, Vandergelt. One cannot arrest people without evidence of a crime.” Emerson smiled. It was not a nice smile. “I weary of Mr. Albion and his family. We will arrange a little ambush and catch them red-handed.”
“Hmmmm.” Cyrus stroked his goatee. “I like the idea, Emerson. Just so nobody gets hurt.”
“And how do you mean to guarantee that?” I demanded. “What if they are armed?”
“We will have your pistol, Peabody,” said Emerson, grinning.
“We better have more than that,” Cyrus said. “I’ve got a couple of rifles and a pistol, latest-model Mauser. I only hope I can sneak ’em out of the house without Katherine seeing,”
he added uneasily.
We had to get Sennia off to bed before we made the final arrangements. Emerson had sent word to Selim, warning him of our suspicions and giving him his instructions, and Cyrus did manage to get his weapons smuggled out of the Castle without Katherine’s knowledge. She would have been deeply distressed if she had known what we were up to.
A little contretemps arose at the last minute, when the men realized that Nefret and I and Jumana meant to accompany them. I put an end to their protests in short order, however.
“So long as you don’t bring that damned sword parasol” was Emerson’s way of conceding defeat.
The moon was on the wane, but the dazzling desert stars gave sufficient light for us to make our way over the ancient path that crossed the gebel. When we reached Deir el Medina, all was quiet. The coals of a fire burned near the place where our men were stationed; there were only four of them, including Selim. They had been ordered to look as if they had relaxed their guard, and on no account to resist an attack. One by one we descended the slope, and found concealment in the shadows of the ruined tombs.
We waited for over an hour before they came, from the south, creeping along the base of the hill. I counted the dim shapes: twelve in all. The last two carried rifles. Like the others, they were masked, but I had no difficulty in recognizing the rotund form of Mr. Albion and the taller outline of his son. One might have expected they would lead their troops from behind! When Selim sprang to his feet, Sebastian advanced, with his weapon aimed, while one of his hirelings called out in Arabic, “Do not move or we will shoot!”
For a moment I was afraid Daoud would forget his orders. It is not in his nature to submit meekly to threats. However, he remained seated, and within a few minutes our fellows were tightly bound, gagged, and blindfolded.
“Now?” Cyrus whispered.
Emerson shook his head.
Sebastian put his rifle down and began to climb the ladder. Obeying his gesture, five of the others followed. Neither he nor his father had spoken; our people could hear, if they could not see, and the use of English would have been a dead giveaway. Mr. Albion sat down with a grunt, and the other men stood close by him.
Emerson waited until Sebastian had reached the platform outside the tomb. His stentorian voice echoed between the cliffs. “Stop where you are, all of you. You are surrounded by armed men.” He added in English, “Drop the rifle, Albion.”
“Better fire a warning shot,” Cyrus advised. “In case they haven’t noticed our weapons.”
We were all on our feet, except for Nefret, who had given me her word she would not expose herself to gunfire. Emerson pointed his rifle toward the temple and pulled the trigger.
The men with Albion broke like a drop of quicksilver, scattering in all directions. “Let them go,” said Emerson, plunging down the slope. “It’s Albion I want.”
However, he was too late. I would never have supposed such a round, elderly man could move so fast. The bullet Emerson aimed at his heels only made him run faster.
“Emerson,” I said, tugging at his arm. “We had better do something about Sebastian, don’t you think?”
Emerson looked up and let out an exclamation.
The men who had started to follow Sebastian up to the platform were dropping to the ground, but Sebastian himself was still there – hanging by his hands from the edge of the platform and screaming at the top of his lungs. Quite a number of people were shouting, so his cries had been lost in the uproar. He must have lost his balance when the gun went off.
“I’ll get him,” Ramses said.
“Give him a hand, Bertie,” Emerson ordered. “You’ll need to get a rope round the bloody idiot. There’s plenty in the supply shed. I wonder how much longer he can hold on,” he added with mild interest.
Nefret and I set about freeing our men, who set about collecting fallen tomb robbers. Some of them had dropped quite a distance, so there were sprains and a broken bone or two, which Nefret treated in her usual efficient fashion.
“Have they got him?” she asked, referring to Sebastian. He was still screaming. “I can’t see from here.”
“Bertie got a rope around him,” Cyrus said. “They don’t seem to be in any hurry to pull him up, though.”
Leaving the robbers in Selim’s charge, we took a silent, shivering Sebastian back to his ma and pa. As Emerson declared, he had not finished with Mr. Albion, not by a damned sight. We all went along, naturally. No one wanted to miss the denouement.
There was no response to Emerson’s emphatic knocks on the door of the Albions’s sitting room. Fearing that he would wake the poor convalescent officers, I announced in low but penetrating tones, “We have your son. If you want him back you must let us in.”
The door was flung open by Mrs. Albion. Despite the lateness of the hour she was fully dressed and bejeweled. “What have you done to him?” she cried, seizing hold of the young man.
“He did it to himself,” I replied, pushing mother and son out of the way. Mr. Albion was sitting on the sofa. He must have arrived just before we did, since he was breathless, disheveled, and very red in the face.
“Now you’ve brought him back, get out,” he said.
“This is not a presentation, it is an exchange,” said Emerson. “Peabody, my dear, may I invite you to take a chair, since no one else has had the courtesy to do so? Albion, I want the artifacts you got from Jamil.”
“Be damned to you!” Albion growled.
Having determined that her son was intact, Mrs. Albion turned indignantly on Emerson. “Mr. Albion paid for those objects, sir. Are you a common thief?”
“Not at all common, madam,” said Emerson, with a smile that reminded me of his brother. “I propose not to press charges for armed assault and purchasing illegal antiquities, in return for the objects that were stolen – and for your promise to leave Luxor immediately. Your husband and your son are extremely inept criminals, but I cannot have this sort of thing. It interferes with my work. Come now, Albion, you are a practical man. Admit you’ve lost.”
“Lost?” Mrs. Albion gasped. “Mr. Albion does not lose. Mr. Albion -”
“Is a practical man,” her husband said, with difficulty. “All right, then. I’ll get them.”
“And I will come with you,” Emerson declared. “To make sure you don’t overlook anything.”
They returned with a heavy box, which Emerson handed to Cyrus. “All there. All yours. Shall we go, my dears?”
Mrs. Albion appeared to be in a state of shock. Her eyes had a bewildered look and she kept murmuring, “Mr. Albion does not lose. Mr. Albion…”
Was in for a spot of marital trouble, if I was any judge. I sincerely hoped so.
“Just one more thing,” Bertie said, in his quiet voice. “Sebastian, take off your glasses and put up your hands.”
“Hopelessly, incorrigibly well-bred,” said Emerson, shaking his head, as Bertie knocked Sebastian flat.
Cyrus’s fantasia was remembered for years as the finest, most extravagant entertainment Luxor had ever seen. The courtyard and the Castle were thrown open; tourists, convalescent officers, Egyptian workmen, and the permanent residents of Luxor mingled in amity, eating and drinking, dancing and singing. It was such a crush I soon gave up trying to do my social duty and was enjoying the sight of Selim and Nefret trying to waltz to the beat of an Egyptian drum, when someone tapped me on the shoulder and I turned to see Marjorie Fisher, a longtime friend who lived in Luxor.
“It’s been ages, Amelia,” she said. “What have you been up to?”
“Just the usual,” I replied. “And what have you been up to?”
She laughed. “The usual. Lunches, teas, visitors… That reminds me, I ran into someone recently who asked to be remembered to you. A sweet little thing with freckles on her nose. Her name is Molly Throgmorton.”
I swallowed the wrong way. “Molly what?”
“She has been recently married,” Marjorie said. “Her husband was with her – a very p
leasant but rather coarse American, who looked to be at least fifty years her senior – but she was wearing a diamond the size of a lima bean, my dear, so he must be extremely rich. She said you knew her by her maiden name, but I’m afraid I have forgotten it. Do you know who I mean?”
“Yes. I know who you mean. Where is she – where are they staying?”
“They left Luxor on Tuesday. Is something wrong, Amelia?”
“No. It’s just that I am… sorry to have missed her. I don’t suppose she happened to mention where they were going?”
Marjorie shook her head. “She said she hoped to see you another time. Her exact words were ‘Tell her she hasn’t seen the last of me.’ Rather an odd way of expressing it, but I suppose she meant it as a touch of humor.”
“No doubt,” I said.
“I am going to break all the rules of decorum and ask Selim to dance with me,” Marjorie announced with a smile. “He waltzes beautifully! Come to tea on Friday, Amelia?”
“Thank you. That would be nice.”
The festivities were still in progress when we took our departure, leaving Jumana to “cavort with the young people,” as Emerson put it. The sounds of revelry faded into silence as the carriage traversed the winding road, and the still, starry night of Egypt enclosed us.
“Vandergelt informed me that the Albions left Luxor yesterday,” Emerson remarked. He added pensively, “I must say that the general quality of criminals has sadly deteriorated. Not that I mind – especially at the present time. How are you feeling, my dear?”
He put his arm round Nefret and she leaned against his shoulder. “A little tired, perhaps. But it was a wonderful evening.”
“Life,” Emerson declared, in such a happy frame of mind he actually committed an aphorism, “life could not be better. Eh, Peabody?”
“Indeed, Emerson.”
Not for worlds would I have cast a shadow on his good humor. Nor was there cause to do so; my fancies were no more than that, idle thoughts of a wandering mind. Yet the words kept going round and round in my head, like a broken gramophone record.
“If she blames me for her mother’s death, how do you suppose she feels about you?”… “Tell her she hasn’t seen the last of me…”
The Golden One Page 49